


Crawl Till Dawn

by Thetwistingdeceit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Barnabas gives Jonathan the good good succ, Blood Drinking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Vampire Bites, Vampires, mildly horny vampire blood drinking shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetwistingdeceit/pseuds/Thetwistingdeceit
Summary: If Jonathan were a good hunter he’d call the feeling that rises in his chest tension, not concern. He’d end Barnabas’s life without hesitation, sparing him from staying trapped in this half-alive state. Jonathan is not a good hunter.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonathan Fanshawe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus, Jonah Magnus Week 2020





	Crawl Till Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Mild dubious consent tag refers to a brief moment where Jonathan tries to stop Barnabas from feeding on him but can't. The Feeding is completely consensual for the rest of the fic.

It takes all of five seconds of seeing Barnabas in his office for Jonathan to make the decision to offer up his help. It takes more time to convince Barnabas that taking his blood is the right choice.  


It would be easy to say that the adrenaline that rushes through him upon seeing Barnabas hunched over in his office chair was from the instinct to fight rather than fawn. It’d be even easier to attribute the gleam in Barnabas’s eyes as he looks up towards Jonathan to hunger rather than panic. If Jonathan were a good hunter he’d call the feeling that rises in his chest tension, not concern. He’d end Barnabas’s life without hesitation, sparing him from staying trapped in this half-alive state. Jonathan is not a good hunter.  


He doesn’t stop to ask where Barnabas has been these past weeks or why Barnabas has finally come home to him. Jonathan suspects Barnabas doesn’t know the answers to those two questions himself.  


Jonathan ignores the crunch of glass underneath his feet as he walks over, ignores the aching in his joints as he leans down, ignores how unnaturally tight Barnabas’s grip is around his hand as Jonathan pulls him up into an embrace.  


He leans into it for what feels like an eternity, relishing the feeling of finally having Barnabas here with him again. Still, he can’t help but eventually pull away and start to fuss. Barnabas’s clothing is stained and torn, black hair hanging limp on his forehead. Jonathan doesn’t wonder whether the dark stains on his vest are from dirt or blood, doesn’t give pause to think about the lingering scent of metal and rust. He instead finds himself occupied with worry. When was the last time the man had been able to wash himself? Hell, more importantly-  


“When was the last time you ate?”  
Barnabas stays silent. Still, Jonathan is an experienced enough hunter that he can recognize the signs of starvation setting in. Not every freshly-turned vampire is eager for the siren song of the chase, preferring to try and keep the need to feed at bay through whatever lingering sense of morality they still have. Those reservations always prove for naught once bloodlust sets in, rational thought abandoned in the face of the gnawing emptiness. He can tell by the way Barnabas is trembling against him and the greyish tint of his skin that it has been far too long since the man had last fed.  


“We need to get something in you, Barnabas.” He pauses, weighs his options and settles on the only decision he could possibly make. “Let me take off my waistcoat.”  


“No.” It’s a quiet sound, muffled from where Barnabas’s face is still pressed up against his chest. Still, Jonathan can hear the hoarse edge to his voice.  


“I’d rather have you here with me than feeding on some hapless stranger, Barnabas,” Jonathan states matter-of-factly, ignoring the flood of relief that comes from finally hearing him speak.  
“

I’d rather not hurt you at all Jonathan.” says Barnabas, leaning up to gently bat away Jonathan's hands from fidgeting with his cravat. “I can’t bear the thought of harming you.”  


Still, Jonathan knows his words have struck a chord. The fact that Barnabas has waited so long between his feedings spoke volumes in and of itself. There were an ample number of people in Edinburgh that were ignorant to what roamed their streets at night, hapless travelers who had no more knowledge than defense against the things that hungered. They provided an abundant amount of warm bodies were Barnabas to give in to his hunger. Jonathan knew many strong men who’d given in quicker in the face of their desire.  


Barnabas doesn’t ask Jonathan to kill him. He knows Jonathan won’t just as he knows he’ll eventually run out of reasons to justify why he himself can’t give in and feed.  


“And I can’t bear the thought of you losing yourself over this Barnabas. Please. Let me help.”  


There's a tense moment where Barnabas turns away. Jonathan can see the wheels turning in his head, can see him calculating whether it would be better to stay and feed or flee back into the night.  


“Barnabas” Jonathan softly says, gently resting his hand over Barnabas's cheek and turning his head back towards him. “I trust you.” He stares at Barnabas’s mouth as he says this, sees the familiar gap in his teeth and the unfamiliar sharp points of his canines. From the corner of his eyes he can see the way Barnabas’s pupils dilate, how he doesn’t tear his gaze away from Jonathan's face for a second.  


Barnabas stares up at him for only a moment before finally letting out a shaky breath.  


“Ok. Ok.” He says “Only a little bit though, Jonathan. Only enough to take the edge off.”  


Sweet Barnabas. Sweet, pleasant, loving, Barnabas. Out of anyone to get turned it was he who deserved it the least. There is revenge to be had, the hunt and search for whoever or whatever had done this to him. Jonathan thinks of it and he itches with the need to start the pursuit. But that can wait. What matters now is getting Barnabas stable and fed.  


Jonathan pulls himself away from Barnabas and stands up. He unbuttons his waistcoat with unsteady fingers before neatly folding it and placing it on his desk chair. Those who were newly turned could be rather, well, messy, and as frivolous as it sounded Jonathan was loath to ruin something he had paid so much for. He considers removing his shirt as well before deciding against it, remembering how cold he had been the last time Barnabas had drunk from him.  


Looking back he sees that Barnabas is now up and pacing in the corners of the room. It’s admittedly startling, and Jonathan can’t help but find himself reminded of the way a cat liked to play with a mouse before the kill. But no. This is Barnabas. He wouldn’t ever consciously try to hurt him.  


“Besides. I’m well aware of how vampires feed Barnabas, but I find my own experience with it rather, well, lacking. If anything the experience will make me a more effective hunter.”  


Barnabas pauses in his pacing and stares over at him for a moment before letting out a small laugh. “Ever the academic Doctor Fanshawe.”  


Jonathan unbuttons the top of his shirt slowly, unfurling his cravat and placing it on top of his waistcoat. He can see the attention Barnabas is paying to him now, the flare of his nostrils and the way his gaze stays locked on his throat. Barnabas’s normally soft face is drawn tight in hunger and Jonathan can see the way he must be holding himself back. It strikes him as wrong, viscerally so. Barnabas was supposed to be bright and smiling and happy, quick to joke and laugh, not pallid and pale hunched over in the corner of his study.  


He walks over to Barnabas slowly, taking care not to startle him. Jonathan trusts Barnabas, trusts him more than anything or anyone in the world. More importantly he wasn’t a man well accustomed to the act of denial. Were Barnabas to ask it of him Jonathan would give him the world. To give up a piece of himself to feed and nourish the one he loved was the easiest decision that Jonathan could ever make.  


He reaches Barnabas, pauses for a moment and then slides his glasses off his nose, hanging them off his shirt. Jonathan thinks about the amount of blood that one human man has, what he himself can safely lose. He thinks of hollowed corpses tucked away in the side streets of London, of sunken eyes and grey skin. He thinks of the feeling of driving a stake through a monster's heart, the thrill of the hunt and the false ideal that what he was doing made him a good man. He thinks of the feeling of Barnabas’s large hands reverently holding his own. He would rather like to hold them again.  


“Well?” He finally asks, looking up at Barnabas. “You can safely draw around one liter before the loss of blood starts to get dangerous. I’d guess that's around seven minutes for you but I’d rather you aim for five just to be safe. Bandages are on top of the dress drawer by the desk, but from what I’ve gathered there should be a natural coagulant excreted when you stop feeding that should take care of that.”  


Barnabas stares at him for a moment, digesting Jonathan's words, before he rests his hand hesitantly against his throat. The touch is like ice but Jonathan can’t help but lean into it, baring his neck as Barnabas lets out an unsteady breath.  


“Are you still su-”  


“Yes Barnabas I’m sure of it.” Jonathan snaps, irritation and anxiety pooling together low in his gut. “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t.” Barnabas stares at him for a moment longer before his face changes, apprehension turning to determination. Jonathan only has to wait a few seconds more before Barnabas finally leans in to set his mouth against Jonathan’s throat.  


There's a moment of bright hot pain, a stab of fear as Barnabas’s fangs pierce into his neck. It can’t be for more than a second but Jonathan panics at the feeling, instinctual and animal in its intensity. He has to fight the urge to thrash out, to fight and scream and push Barnabas away from him. The part of his brain that knows what Barnabas is, that Barnabas could easily overpower him is drowned out as he can’t help but grasp at Barnabas’s shirt, fruitlessly trying to pull him back up. Jonathan’s grip is weak and ineffectual. Were he in a better state of mind he’d take more note of the paralyzing nature of the bite. Sickly warmth radiates out from where Barnabas has broken into his skin, and Barnabas pulls away for a second, the relief at the loss of contact almost overwhelming.  


But then Barnabas leans back in and starts to drink, the press of his lips now gentle against his throat. Jonathan instinctually flinches away from the touch at first, only to find the expected pain completely absent. Jonathan’s grip against Barnabas’s shirt loosens as a sudden wave of calm washes over him, his hand falling away. It spreads slowly, warm and soft and sweet from his neck down through his chest. Dimly he’s still aware of the loss, aware of what Barnabas is taking from him. It's a dull distant thing, however. It feels less like something taken away and more like something given. It’s fascinating.  


Was this how it always felt for those who found themselves victims of vampires? Was it his consent that had changed things? Or was it Barnabas himself, more cognizant than before and aware enough of himself to control the feeding? Whatever it was it didn’t matter, as Jonathan found himself quickly overtaken by the sensation. Dimly he’s aware of his legs giving out underneath him, of the hand not holding his head up coming to wrap around his waist. But did feelings like that really matter when he could instead focus on the sensation of Barnabas’s lips firm against his neck, the aching rightness of each slow pull of blood from his throat?  


Barnabas is so close like this, nestled right up against his side, holding him up and keeping Jonathan right where he needs him. Jonathan aches to pull him in even closer, to let Barnabas tear into him and crawl into his skin. He wants to curl up in this feeling, revel in the heady sensation of warmth and contentment that has settled over him.  


More than any of that Jonathan wants to raise his hand up and card it through Barnabas’s hair how he likes it. He tries but only succeeds in twitching his fingers ineffectually where they lay limp against his side. Barnabas takes another long draw, and Jonathan can’t help the gasp that tears itself out from his lips. It’s Barnabas’s hands that comes carding through his hair instead, steady where it presses against Jonathan's skull. Without the support against his neck Jonathan’s head flops forward onto Barnabas’s shoulder, the Barnabas easily following the movements of his neck. This is better, like this he can press his face against Barnabas's shoulder, lean up against him as another whine slips past his lips.  


It’s so different from the last time Barnabas had fed on him. There had been a sense of loss that had thrummed deep in his blood and bone, Barnabas’s fangs against his throat sharp and cold and wrong. Even then Jonathan couldn’t think to push him away, even then the hand he raised was not in self-defense but to press and rub against Barnabas’s back. Now though, the blood flows out of him sweet and easy.  


It doesn’t take long for Jonathan to lose himself in the gentle ebb and flow of it, eyes fluttering shut and mind drifting. He knows that it’s alright, that he can afford to let his guard down, knows that as long as he has Barnabas here with him it’ll be alright.  


It’s startling when Barnabas stops. He’s not sure how long Barnabas has drank from him, only knows that it certainly doesn’t feel like long enough. He whines at the sudden loss of sensation as Barnabas pulls away from his throat. He’s distantly aware that he should be feeling pain from the wound on his neck but everything still just feels fluffy and pleasant.  


“Shh. It’s alright.” Barnabas murmurs, hand still gently running through his hair. Jonathan is dimly aware of being moved, of sinking down to the floor, of the fact that Barnabas’s body against him is no longer cold. It’s easy to melt into Barnabas’s embrace while his mind slowly comes back into itself.  


But then Barnabas is moving and pulling away from him, gently laying Jonathan onto the floor. Jonathan can’t quite understand it, why would he be leaving after this? He still can’t move properly, still can’t reach out to stop Barnabas from moving away.  


“Jonathan it’s alright. I just have to get the bandages remember? Doesn’t seem like you were right about the bleeding stopping,” says Barnabas. Ah right. Bandages. That would be important, especially considering how much blood he’s just lost. He can see flecks of it on the corner of Barnabas’s lips, feel the slick heat of it now slowly dripping from his throat.  


It was admittedly disappointing that his hypothesis about coagulation was wrong. It’d also be worth noting how much of his dizziness came from a loss of blood and from whatever calming agent seemed to be at play still in his system. Jonathan closes his eyes, doing his best to try and log every bit of sensation in his body. Those thoughts occupy him as Barnabas rummages around for a bit before coming back down to sit with him.  


Even with how distant he still feels Jonathan can tell the application of the bandage is clumsy at best, but that's alright. It would staunch the flow of bleeding and it would be simple enough to change come the morning. Besides, the feeling of Barnabas once again wrapping his arms around him was a much more pressing matter.  


Jonathan is barely able to open his eyes back up, fatigue catching up to him, but he wants to see Barnabas, wants to know that he was able to do something concrete to help. Blinking his eyes slowly open Jonathan sees Barnabas, face mere inches away from his own. He looks concerned but delightfully alive, face flushed and eyes bright. Jonathan wants to raise his hand up, press his palm against those rosy cheeks and feel the warmth back in them but he finds his limbs still keen on disobeying him.  


“Thank you.” Barnabas says softly.  


Jonathan wants nothing more than to reassure him that he’s alright, he’s ok, but his mouth feels like it's full of cotton. He settles on using the last of his strength to lean further into Barnabas’s side, reveling in the sensation of Barnabas’s hand slowly rubbing against his back.  


“Are you sure you're a hunter Jonathan? You took to that rather easy.” Barnabas eventually murmurs. “I’d hate to see you go down like that to someone else.” If Jonathan were in a right state of mind he’d be insulted. Not any other vampire was Barnabas.  


When Jonathan properly comes to he’s sure he’ll have questions to ask, assurances to make. He knows that there's only so much he can give Barnabas, only so much that Barnabas will be willing to take. More than anything Jonathan knows that there will be work to do.  


It’s alright. He’s safe here, with Barnabas, kneeling on the floor of his study. For now he can give in to the urge to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Major shoutouts to Stacicity for betaing this you're a gem! I know my friend TheTiniestFish is working on a longform vampire au fic so definitely be on the lookout for that when it comes out!  
> I just really like Barnshawe lads.


End file.
